


all for us

by starrywrite



Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Broken Families, Brothers, Character Study, Child Neglect, Dialogue Light, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Loss of Parent(s), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: “when you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.” - lauren eden
Relationships: Cesar Diaz & Oscar "Spooky" Diaz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	all for us

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is basically just one big headcanon about how i imagine the diaz family to have been lmao but it’s in chronological order, starting with the mysterious diaz parents and ending with oscar’s arrest
> 
> much love to mi amor tianna for being just as invested in this au as i am and for helping me flesh out my ideas and for believing in me more than i believe in myself <3
> 
> !! warnings for this fic include (in order of appearance): domestic violence, unhealthy relationship, brief mention of implied suicide, child abuse, child neglect, mentions of drug use, and overall dysfunctional families. !!
> 
> title is from labrinth & zendaya song of the same name as are the accompanying lyrics in the beginning and the start of the fic <3

_Too much in my system (famine, famine)  
Money MIA (pockets hella empty)  
Mama making ends meet (making ends meet)  
Working like a slave (Mississippi, ay, ay)  
Daddy ain't at home, no (father, father)  
Gotta be a man (Michael Corleone)  
Do it for my homegrowns (sisters, brothers)  
Do it for the fam _

For years, the consensus had been that Reina and Ricardo were a match made in hell. Reina Ramirez’s personality was as fiery as her always red nails with her wit just as sharp. Ricardo Diaz was charming in a way that a pungi is, but more deadly than snake venom. She was an artist with dreams of her paintings making it into a museum. He had been running for the Santos since before he was able to run. The two had little to nothing in common other than one thing: they were absolutely enthralled by each other. Reina always said the first thing she noticed about Ricardo was his eyes; she knew that he had seen things, that he had known things. She believed the eyes were the window to the soul and she was intrigued by the glimpse she had gotten. And Ricardo was fascinated by Reina being the only _hyna_ in Freeridge who wasn’t afraid of him -- or afraid to tell him to fuck off from time to time. 

The pair were young enough to mistake allure for affection. 

Their in class arguments over literary interpretations that always led to heated hook ups in the boys’ bathroom was enough to keep them both coming back to each other, even when everyone told them to run the other way. From the time they had gotten together, they had been on and off and harder to keep up with than global affairs. And for years, Reina had been trying to masquerade her bruises as love bites, Ricardo turning a blind eye to the other men she would be seen around town with. Maybe they truly believed that there was no one else out there for either of them; that each other was the best they could do. But no matter what they said, no one even believed that Reina and Ricardo had never really been in love. They certainly weren’t Freeridge’s Tony and Maria -- or even Jlo and Arod. They were simply high school sweethearts who weren’t always sweet to each other turned couple married way too young with a son neither of them knew how to raise. 

* * *

Reina hadn’t known what love was until the day she held her son in her arms for the first time. She was a bastard, her sperm donor long gone before her mother’s first trimester came to fruition. Her mom, bless her soul, tried but ended up overdosing when she was five and much too young to understand why her mama wouldn’t wake up from her afternoon nap. It wasn’t until later in life that she understood the depths of mental illness that her mother struggled with -- the postpartum depression that never went away and, judging by what her aunt had told her, whatever else she was undiagnosed with that ate away at her until there was nothing left. Until she was nothing. Raised by her aunt and her aunt’s piece of shit boyfriend, Reina’s examples of what a loving couple was supposed to be was limited to telenovelas. Maybe that’s why she ended up with Ricardo; she didn’t know any better than to realize that love wasn’t supposed to make you bleed, wasn’t supposed to drain you or enrage you. 

At first it was fun, being a Santo’s girl. Everyone looked at her different, almost liked they feared her, and it made her feel powerful. Ricardo held her hand like she was an adornment to be shown off, and she felt special. She spent months riding the high that being Ricardo’s girl gave her. It was addictive. When things went south between her and Ricardo, and they often did, she was desperate for the feeling to return. To feel anything other than the numbness he left her with. Lucky for her, she knew people who were more than willing to help her achieve that. It was always easier to deal with Ricardo with the help of her friends; they muffled the yelling, softened his edges. Almost made him bearable. Almost. 

It was always the same shit with the two of them: the two of them screaming, saying things they would later apologize for; a hole in the wall of his shitty house that he would fix later to make up for the damage he had done; a split lip, then a black eye, and almost all of her pennies spent on drugstore concealer to hide everything he had done to her; promises that it’ll never happen again but of course it did; breaking up then making up like it was what they did best; threats to leave, to tell anyone who’ll listen about what kind of man he really was, but they were as empty as he made her.

She should’ve left. A thousand times she should’ve left and she had a million reasons for leaving, but she always found an excuse to come back to him. The most recent being their son. 

Oscar was the most beautiful baby in the hospital. Maybe she was biased, but he truly was. He looked so small bundled up in his blanket, lying in her arms. She hadn’t known what love was until the day she held her son in her arms for the first time. But Reina had also never hated herself as much as she did the day her first son was born, except maybe ten years later, on the day her second son was born. Because if she was a better person, someone smarter or less selfish, she wouldn’t have conceived with Ricardo Diaz. 

* * *

Oscar Diaz was a lot of things. A son. A legacy. A spelling bee champ. “Gifted” according to his teachers. A future chef, maybe. A punching bag. Sometimes out of everything he was, he thought he was the best at that. Whether he just happened to be in the wrong room at the wrong time or he was standing between his mother and father during one of their fights, Oscar collected bruises like some people collected quarters. He learned quickly to be seen and not heard in his house, not to talk back or mumble under his breath less he wanted a hand upside his head. He learned to keep his hair short and shaven so Ricardo wouldn’t have any leverage on him when things got out of hand. He learned to lay his mother on her side if he came home to find her sleeping on the floor, the couch, her bed. He learned that when she started screaming in Spanish to drop everything and find her, because that was always her tell that she was fed up with Ricardo. 

Sometimes his mother swung at him first, but Ricardo always hit back harder. So Oscar had to be her shield. After all, she was his ma. 

Ma always called him her king, a homage to his middle name, Reyes, which was a play on her name. His middle name also happened to be a “fuck you” to Ricardo, who always wanted his first child to bear his name but who couldn’t have bothered to actually be there for the birth of his first child. But it didn’t matter to him because his mother was the one who went through hell and back for him. And if Oscar was her king, then he had to do everything in his power to keep her safe. A king always took care of his own. If that meant getting thrown around or beat up, or a concussion that one time, then so be it. 

Oscar was a lot of things, but first and foremost, he was a protector. 

Oscar’s life was made for him before he had even opened his eyes for the first time. Son of a gang banger and a drug addict, his choices in life were limited. Even though his mom and his teachers were constantly telling him that he could do anything he set his mind to, he was smart enough to know that sentiment only worked for white kids in the city. Freeridge wasn’t made for the dreamers, it was for survivors. But if there was one thing that Oscar was never meant to be, it was an olive branch. 

He wasn’t sure how old he was when he realized that he probably shouldn’t have been born; not in a suicidal kind of way, but in a “my parents were unhappy and unhealthy together and I don’t know why they brought a child into the mix” way. People had often said how kids can really bring two people together, but for his parents, it definitely didn’t. Unfortunately, it didn’t cause for a separation -- at least not for several years to come when Ricardo was finally out of the picture for good. It was the second best thing he could have done.

The first was Cesar. 

Oscar was ten years old when his baby brother was born, and he loved him more than anything from the first moment he saw him. Cesar wasn’t as lucky as Oscar was; both of his parents were there to welcome him into the world, and he ended up with Ricardo as his middle name. But ma always called him Angel, after his confirmation name. And no nickname could have been more fitting because Cesar really was something Heaven sent. When Oscar held him for the first time, he swore to him that he would always keep him safe. A promise that would be tested day in and day out in the Diaz house.

* * *

Call him _loco_ but for a brief moment in time, Oscar actually thought his ma having Cesar could’ve done something good for their family. Maybe he could’ve inspired ma to clean up her act, to stop shooting up all of the time. Maybe he could’ve gotten their father to calm down some, to stop being so damn angry at everything. It was wishful thinking to say the least. 

Nothing had changed, nothing at all. Maybe for a day, two at most, but sure enough, everything went back to the way it had always been.

He was ten going on eleven when he swung at his father for the first time. Nothing compared to the satisfying feeling of his knuckles connecting with the _pendejo_ ’s jaw. Cesar was wailing in mom’s arms, their mother’s shrieks barely audible over the baby’s tears. A broken bottle lay at her feet. Thank the Lord it hadn’t hit either of them or Oscar would’ve done a hell of a lot more than punch Ricardo.

The elder Diaz must’ve been stunned by the fact that his son just hit him because for a moment, he was still, hand on his jaw where a bruise was surely forming. And Oscar was red with fury, his face flushed, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were taking on a shade of crimson. He never thought he’d have the _cojones_ to lay a hand on his father but Cesar could barely sit up on his own, much less know how to dodge beer bottles. “Don’t ever,” he spat. “ _Ever_ touch my brother again.” Maybe it was too late for him to keep his ma safe, but he’d be damned if he ever let anything happen to Cesar. 

Ricardo backhanded him after that, hard enough to make him feel like his brain was rattling around inside of his head and his vision go weird for a second. He hit the ground but a second later, ears ringing so intensely they muffled the screams of his mother and the slamming of the front door not a minute later. Tears swam in his eyes as he looked up to his ma, her kneeling before him and stroking his face, crying, “My baby, my baby,” over and over again while Cesar wept along with her. He hadn’t realized it at the time but it was just the three of them now, and that’s how it was going to be. 

* * *

His father leaving was a blessing in disguise, but it changed everything. 

Oscar never got to be a kid, not really. While his friends were running around and having fun, he chose to be home to keep an eye on Cesar, who was growing more everyday, and his ma, who was dying more everyday. 

It was becoming a rare occurrence to see her clean. The once beautiful Reina Diaz was now a voodoo doll of her former self; her eyes so dead and sunken in sometimes Oscar wasn’t sure if he was looking at a corpse or his mom. He was too young to understand what was happening to her but old enough to know that he was slowly losing her. She wasn’t his mom anymore. The woman who once baked cookies with him and tucked him into bed every night and called him her king was gone. He still wishes Cesar would’ve gotten to know the real her, not the woman she was when he was born.

“Mami, look!” Oscar glanced over his shoulder to see Cesar facing their mother and holding up a piece of paper with colorful scribbles on it. It broke Oscar’s heart. C was too young to recognize the glassy look in her eyes, how even though she was looking right at him she wasn’t really seeing anything. Oscar considered him lucky. 

“That’s great, _mano_ ,” he offered in place of ma saying anything. Cesar looked at him with a big dimpled grin and crawled over, suddenly more interested in whatever his big brother was doing. Oscar hoisted him up and sat him down on his lap while he finished his homework. The _crio_ was fascinated by the world and everything it had to offer. His eyes were constantly wide with wonder, his little hands reaching for everything that wasn’t nailed down. It was a damn shame that their mother was missing this. Oscar couldn’t help but to feel sad for her too. He was sad for her, sad for Cesar, but not sad for himself. Not anymore. Because Ma had been gone long before she left. Same with their father. Maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt as much as it should have to lose them both. He spent much too long wishing for people who were long gone to come home. He isn’t going to waste anymore. 

And he has Cesar. Beautiful, bright Cesar. Cesar, who saved his life by giving his life meaning. His pain in the ass kid brother was a blessing in more ways than one, and maybe their parents couldn’t see that, but he did. He absolutely did. 

* * *

Maybe it was because he was too young to really form any concrete memories. Maybe it was because he repressed so many memories. But most of Cesar’s childhood was just a blur of emotion with nothing to attach to them. 

Logically, he knew he had a father, he wouldn’t exist without one, but if asked, he couldn’t point the man out in a lineup or even tell you his name. Oscar very rarely spoke of their father and when he did, he referred to him as a _hijo de puta_ , or a _cabrón_ , or a _coño_ that one time, and that was enough to let Cesar know that he wasn’t anything with asking about. 

When his father finally left, it was as if he had never existed. His mother never spoke of him, Oscar never answered any of his questions about him. It was like they wanted to pretend he never happened -- which Cesar imagined must be difficult for his mother with him and his brother running around, two mini clones of Ricardo. Cesar looked more like his ma than Oscar did, but he had to imagine there were parts of him that his father still existed in. Maybe in his eyes or his dimples. He didn’t know; he couldn’t even remember what the man looked like. No pictures of him existed in their house, not even in photo albums or hidden in the depths of his mother’s drawers. It really seemed like he was just phased out of existence, leaving Cesar to wonder if he was ever really there. 

Sometimes he had dreams -- nightmares -- about a tall, faceless man. About being locked in closets. About cigarette burns. About screaming and yelling and cursing. Oscar always told him they were just dreams, that they didn’t mean anything. But he figured if his father was anything like his dreams, regardless of their meaning, he was happy not to remember him.

His mom on the other hand was much trickier. Mostly, Cesar remembered her as dull eyes but a bright smile. He couldn’t tell you what she did for a living or even how she spent her days while he was at school, but he could tell you that she made the most incredible empanadas in the world and even though she was so frail the wind could have knocked her over, she always gave him the best hugs. But the way Oscar spoke of her, it was almost like they were raised by two different people. But then again, they were. Because Oscar was brought up by their mom but Cesar was brought up by Oscar. 

He had no idea how Oscar had done it; raised a kid when he was still a kid himself. Right now he’s almost the same age Oscar was when he became a big brother and Oscar doesn’t even think he can take care of a puppy. Part of him thinks Oscar’s right - after all, he needs to be reminded to brush his teeth sometimes or say “please” and “thank you” - but it makes him wonder how Oscar did such a good job taking care of him at his age if he’s _muy joven_ for most of the things he wants to do.

He supposes he should just be thankful - and he is. He’s thankful Oscar didn’t get sick like mami had, thankful that he didn’t have to go away like she did (he stopped asking Oscar when she’s coming home because his brother’s eyes get sad when he does and he doesn’t want his brother to be sad). He’s thankful that Oscar is the best cook he knows, even better than Mrs. Martinez, and always makes him his favorite dinners, even when it isn’t his birthday or a holiday. He’s thankful that Oscar lets him sleep in his bed with him when it thunders outside, and that he lets him stay up late to watch movies sometimes, and that he helps him with his homework. He’s thankful to have Oscar. 

* * *

Cesar doesn't think anything of it when he comes home from school one day and Oscar isn’t there. Nor does he the next day when he wakes up to an empty house. After all, Cesar was used to waking up to someone being gone. 

_Guess you figured my two times two  
Always equates to one  
Dreamers are selfish  
When it all comes down to it  
I hope one of you come back  
To remind me of who I was  
When I go disappear  
Into that good night  
(Good night, good night, good night, good night)_


End file.
